


Size Doesn't Matter

by the_one_that_fell



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Model Jack, NHL Bitty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 02:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11370759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: At a charity event, successful model Jack Zimmermann is introduced to Eric BIttle, fastest player in the NHL, and things get a little heated.





	Size Doesn't Matter

**Author's Note:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/162416056687/modeljack-nhlbitty-drabble)

The thing most people didn’t seem to realize, Jack often thought, was that modeling was a physical job.

It wasn’t physical in the same way hockey was, _obviously_. But modeling required a total control over his body that most people didn’t possess. And Jack had grown up under intense scrutiny, knew how to hold himself to look the thinnest, knew how to school his features so no one knew he was angry or upset. He wasn’t the most outgoing or self-assured guy at his agency, but Jack knew he was a good model. And while it certainly wasn’t the profession he’d dreamt of as a child, he’d really grown to love it. Like with hockey, when Jack went into his focused mode at work, it was like all the noise and fear in his head went silent. Perhaps he’d never achieve anything as earth-shattering as winning the cup, but Jack was content in his life.

Except for now. Jack hated doing public events, even ones for charities like tonight. Though he was almost 30, Jack had the urge to find his mother and hide behind her skirts at the mere thought of making small talk with strangers. But his agent had insisted, networking and public image and _blah blah blah_ , so Jack was here, gripping a tonic water tightly, politely nodding at something some old man was saying. Jack had stopped paying attention a while ago.

“Oh, Jack, honey!”

Thank goodness for his mother. Jack looked up at her and waved, excusing himself from the man. “Maman,” he said, smiling in relief. It was only then that he noticed the man standing next to her. He was lean, but muscular, and his suit was perfectly tailored to sharpen his silhouette.  His honey-blonde hair was coiffed stylishly and the white expanse of his shirt framed a jaunty, red bow tie. Jack’s eyes raked up to the man’s face and he started when he recognized those large doe-eyes and nervous smile. Could it actually be-?

“Darling,” she said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I want you to meet my new friend, Eric Bittle. He plays for the-”

“Falconers,” Jack finished, offering Eric his hand. “You had a great season, I’m sorry about playoffs.”

Eric took the proffered hand with a blinding smile. “Mr. Zimmermann,” he said, and his accent in person wasn’t what Jack expected but good _God_ it dripped down Jack’s spine like warm butter and honey. “Thank you. It was a rough loss, but we’ll get ‘em next year.”

It wasn’t like Jack followed hockey all that obsessively, the way he had right out of rehab, during Kenny’s rookie season, but he’d taken a shining to the Falcs a few years ago, when Eric -- or Bittle, as Jack knew him -- was a rookie himself, fresh out of the NCAA. It had nothing to do with Bittle’s soft hands or adorable interviews. Not at all. The Falcs were a great team.

“I’m sure you will,” Jack said.

“Your mama say you’re a model,” Bittle said brightly, and it was only then that Jack realized his mother had disappeared, leaving him alone with Eric. “That’s sounds so glamorous. The last one of these events I went to, I ended up chatting with a whole group of models, they were always jetting around the world to Paris and Milan, and I guess that’s only at the top, for the really successful ones, but still, the only foreign country I get to go to is _Canada._ And, _Lord_ , those ladies were _tall-_!”

“They must’ve towered over you,” Jack chirped. Bittle gasped in offense and playfully hit his chest.

“I’ll have you know I’m not even the shortest guy in the league,” Bittle said, hands on his hips. “Tremblay, with the Habs -- I’ve got a whole half inch on him.”

“Sure, Bittle,” Jack said, grinning widely. “If you _say_ so.”

“Hmph.” Bittle crossed his arms over his chest and pouted adorably. Jack could see how Bittle, along with Mashkov, had become the face of the Falcs. Everything he did was endearing. Jack was torn between wanting to pinch his cheeks and dragging him back to his hotel room. “Well, size isn’t everything.”

Jack would later blame the half glass of champagne he’d had for what he said next. “Sure. As long as you know how to use what you’ve got.”

The innuendo was intentional, and Jack was almost certain Bittle caught that. His cheeks pinkened prettily, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips, unconsciously. Jack’s eyes were drawn to the sight, and he found himself staring at Bittle’s mouth just a beat too long.

“I...suppose that’s true,” Bittle finally said, looking up at Jack from under thick, blonde eyelashes. “And do you?”

Jack swallowed drily. “Do I what?”

Bittle leaned in, and Jack caught a whiff of his cologne, something spicy and expensive. “Know how to use what you’ve got?” Bittle asked, face innocent but voice thick with latent desire. He shifted from foot to foot, and Jack realized he was as nervous as Jack felt.

“You want to find out?” Jack asked in an undertone.

Bittle chewed on his bottom lip and nodded. “My, uh- my hotel room is right upstairs. Room 317. Meet me there in ten?”

Jack grinned genuinely and freely for the first time all evening. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Bittle said, visibly relaxing.

“Great,” Jack chirped, laughing as Bittle smacked his arm. “You know, my agent wanted me to come here to network. I don’t think this is the kind of one-on-one connection she meant.”

Bittle let out a startled bark of a laugh, quickly covering his mouth with his hand. “Oh, you’re _bad_ , Mr. Zimmermannn. What am I going to do with you?”

Jack smirked, and made a mental note to thank his mother one day. “Well...let’s find out, eh?”

**Author's Note:**

> [alphacrone](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/)on tumblr. 
> 
> If you think my writing's swell, please check out my original project, [The Discourt Knife.](http://thediscourtknife.tumblr.com/)Chapter 5 was posted this morning, and there's lot of witty banter and Fighting Evil in this update. Check it out!


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